Secrets Whispered
by timeiscontagious
Summary: It is at night, alone in his room on his bed, where they become their true selves.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I still do not own Vampire Diaries or any of its characters.

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Out in the world they are like any other couple. They hold hands. They grin at each other and laugh at their shared jokes. They show minor displays of public affection. But it is at night, alone in his room on his bed, where they become their true selves. She becomes she and he becomes he, and together they become whatever they need to be for each other – friend, confidante, counselor, lover, nurse, teacher. They wrap themselves up in their respective roles and share whatever needs to be said, whatever needs to be done.

Some nights, while she hugs a pillow and he sits cross-legged, he talks about his life before her. About the places he's been, the things he's seen. She becomes entranced by the tales he weaves of eras found only in her history textbook. Places and people that time has all but forgotten. He tells her of art and literature, inventions and movements, sparing her the gory details. He tries to give her enough to paint a picture but not enough to haunt her dreams. He figures she sees enough of the ugliness of the world without him adding more about times that no longer exist. It's his way of contributing.

He listens patiently, while on his back, while she whispers about her parents. The pain and heartache. The missed moments and how he would have liked them. She tries to hold it together, tries not to cry, but he can hear it in her voice. Tears she won't let fall. He pretends not to notice and lets her think she's slipping one by him. She knows better but lets them pretend anyway.

He smiles with her when she shares stories about her childhood and nods demurely as she talks about Matt. About their comfort. About her first time. He's not jealous in any way, and she loves that but secretly wonders why. He knows that the boy is no threat to him and is grateful the boy took such great care of her until he was able to arrive.

They continue like this until one of them falls asleep. Once the dawn breaks so does their sharing. That is their unspoken rule. They go about their days as always, school and homework, classes and tests as if the nights don't happen.

But secretly they wait for the sun to set, for the stars to appear. For the moment when secrets are whispered across the span of years in the dead of night.


	2. Chapter 2

She is curious about many things.

As the clock turns to 11:58 and a breeze stirs the drapes, she stretches out on her back and lets his voice transport her to another time, another place. He lies at the other end of the bed on his stomach, watching her wiggle her toes and tells her stories of when his life wasn't complicated with witches and tomb vampires and –said in a teasing manner – human girls with a taste for the dead. She kicks her foot out at him, and he lets her, enjoying the contact. It's these brief interludes of touching that convince him that this is real. He gets so caught up in his memories that it's hard to remember he's in his room, on his bed, talking to her.

He talks about the time after the Great War. How he lived in Chicago and worked at a factory, helping ship wheat to the nation. How the railroad rumbled and sliced the land. How he made friends and then never saw them again. He remembers certain names and faces. Remembers looking them up years later, finding only death certificates and aged obituaries. She closes her eyes and stops herself from thinking that he could be talking like this about her one day. And it's as if he knows, as if he can read her mind. He quickly changes the subject, moving on to neutral topics. Inventions and the progress of technology.

He remarks at the shock of seeing the first horseless carriage, never once thinking that it would come as far as it has. He talks about the first time he rode in one. The exhilaration he felt. The hope that something better might come his way. Then the depression came, and everything changed. It was like the bottom fell out of the country, and suddenly people were starving and living on the street.

His voice drops at this, a tense lower tone that in turn creates tension in her. He senses it and remains silent. A beat or two passes, and all she can feel is her own heart beat. The only one in the room.

She turns to her side and begins talking about her family. The grandmother she never knew and the one she did but didn't really care for. And just like that the tension evaporates, and he sits up, wanting to see her face. She shares stories about family vacations to Disney World and the Grand Canyon. He tells her about Paris in the fifties. Fashion and art. The time he spent sleeping on Coco Chanel's couch. She shakes her head in disbelief, and he continues because he loves her and because he wants to make her happy.

As the night carries on and wraps them in their cocoon of words, they continue to shower each other with the jewels of their memories.

Neither can imagine a life without this.


	3. Chapter 3

He tells her things he's never told anyone.

Across the expanse of the bed – it seems like an ocean between them – he reminiscences about his mother. He doesn't remember much, but what he does remember he spills across the bed. He picks up each memory and holds it out to her, offering a glimpse into his heart.

He remembers the way his mother laughed, tilting her head back and showing the whiteness of her neck. The way she fluttered around the house, seeing to this and that. Her perfume was of jasmine, a bottle with a frosted stopper. It came from France, he remembers, and was the only luxury she allowed herself.

He smelled it once years ago when he was living in Amsterdam near the canal. He chased it down, finding its owner walking into a shop. An elderly lady with a little white dog. For one brief moment, he could have sworn it was his mother, but then all too quickly, he remembered his mother was dead. Had been for eighty-five years. The walk back home was crushing.

The tears fall, and he's the lost little boy again, mourning his mother. She reaches out for him, and he crawls to her. His head lands in her lap, and she bends her head towards his. Her hair becomes a shield, blocking out what cuts him. More painful than a hundred darts of vervain could ever inflict. She cries with him, mourning the loss of a woman she never met. But if this woman meant something to him, then she meant something to her.

They hold each other like this for ages. Coming across an ocean to heal each other's wounds.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to all my reviewers! I am so happy that people are actually reading my stuff and liking it. This one is a little bit longer than the other chapters, but I kind of got lost in her life for a bit. I probably could have gone on forever, but I didn't want to depress people too much. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

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She could never be this intimate with just anyone.

She lies on his bed on her stomach, tracing the pattern of the duvet cover, while she exposes her innermost thoughts to him. She has always been guarded, especially after her parents died. She loved her parents, more than anything, but it was not always easy being their daughter. Being Elena Gilbert meant being the girl who had everything: wonderful parents, excellent grades, popularity, and an adoring boyfriend. Her life was a mirage, she explains. You think you see one thing and it ends up being something completely different, something that doesn't even exist. She glances at him from the corner of her eye – afraid to make eye contact – and sees him staring at her with a look of…knowing. Encouraged, she continues.

Oftentimes, she felt like her life was a house of cards. The wrong amount of pressure in a fragile area and the whole thing would come crashing down, leaving her unprotected. So she hid. She figured if she piled more and more on, perhaps the walls would build up so high and that no one could see in.

And she couldn't see out.

It's not like she was particularly unhappy, she clarifies. She didn't blame anyone for this – not her parents, not her friends. She did it to herself. No one ever said she had to be perfect. She just naturally assumed that perfection was a prerequisite for love. At this she pauses, choking up. He reaches out to her, putting his hand on the small of her back, knowing that for right now this touch is the only touch that is necessary.

She goes on to describe the mask she wore, the many facades of Elena Gilbert. How she became complacent, going along with ideas that did not interest her but were important to high school society. Partying, drinking, having sex. The truth of the matter is that she never knew what she wanted, what she needed, to make herself whole. Like every high school girl in America, she tried on different personalities to discover which she was. And like every other girl, she kept the best part of herself hidden, fearing that adoration was contingent on conformity.

Her parents' deaths were an awakening. A tragic, inconsolable one but an awakening nonetheless. After that, she figured what was the point of it all if shit like this could happen? Why please others when it's just going to be stolen from you at the end?

She describes the funeral to him, the bits and pieces she remembers. The way the flowers looked. The way Jeremy grasped her hand so tight that she thought it would break. How she thought that it was raining until she realized that it was her tears staining Aunt Jenna's dress. Mostly she just remembers feeling numb. Then after the reception when everyone had gone home, she went upstairs, got into bed, and didn't leave it for a week.

Literally, did not get out of bed for a week.

It was like she had drowned as well. Buried along with her parents. And for a brief moment, she wished she was.

He held his breath and kept completely still throughout this entire confession, fearing that even the slightest movement would wake her from this trance. Not wanting to disrupt her, he refrained from even consoling her, understanding that she didn't want to be consoled. Not now anyway.

She continues on with her descriptions of the abysmal depression she lived with for months: the hysterical crying, the loss of appetite, and the constant fatigue. Those months were a mixture of sleeping and staring at her walls. She pauses and lets out a sigh, closing her eyes.

It is this signal that he has been waiting for. He moves closer and practically lifts her into his arms. She clings to him like a lifeboat, terrified of what might happen if she lost her grip. He strokes her hair and whispers that he loves her – all of her, not just the parts she lets people see.

And with that, the walls slowly begin to crumble away.


	5. Chapter 5

He wishes he didn't have to tell her this.

But she wants to know.

She sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard, at first unsure of what to do with her hands. Finally, she decides to lay them in her lap, looking prim and proper. Reminding him of Katherine, the last person he wants to think about just now.

She's nervous and a tiny bit fearful. It's as though she's preparing for a blow to the head; one that will surely hurt, but one that is coming anyway. After all, she specifically asked for it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, not wanting to sit so close as he tells her this. Feeling like a traitor. Feeling as though he sacrificed her to save himself although it happened a century before she even existed. He takes a breath and begins to tell her about his life after he turned, weaving a tapestry of blood and innocent lives.

Once Damon left him, he struck out on his own. There is a learning curve to being a vampire, it seems. He had to figure out many things on his own. Certain things came easy, engrained from the very beginning. All of the tools that ensured survival, all of the tools that meant vampire: feeding, compulsion, speed, strength. Everything else he had to learn for himself.

He was unstable at first. All he could think about was feeding. He cared for little else. He hesitates here, peeking up at her to gauge her reactions to this story. She sits perfectly still. An innocent in the presence of a monster. She encourages him to go on, but he's afraid to tell her the next part of the story, afraid that she will see him for what he truly is- a murderer, a stain on this very earth.

Evil.

She waits patiently, knowing not to push, and he continues on reluctantly. He had been living in the woods for days, dirty and unkempt. He's sure he looked deranged, but his appearance was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to feed, which at this point seemed like the only thing he was capable of doing. He remembers it was around noon, the sun was at its peak in the sky. He wandered into a village about a hundred miles from Mystic Falls. It was tiny, only a few people milled about. A few houses here or there. No more than fifty people at best. A kindhearted man approached him, asking him if he needed assistance. When he agreed, the man brought him back to his home just like that.

It was the biggest mistake of that man's life. The man was doomed.

In a quick rush of words and stated very matter-of-factly without adjectives, he tells her about how he fed from this man. And the man's family. A wife and three children, the oldest being no more than twelve. He feels sick to his stomach just saying it. The thought of killing himself enters his mind, but he pushes it away. This is his penance. He will have to live an eternity with blood on his hands and the guilt weighing down his heart.

He refuses to look at her, and that's probably a good thing. She holds back a shudder and fights the instinctual urge to run, to flee, to remove herself from a potentially dangerous situation. He continues on as quickly as he can, telling her that it wasn't enough. That desiccating a family wasn't enough. He needed more. Much more.

In a monotone voice as if he has shut down to preserve his sanity, he recites every move he made. Every slash, every bite. Each innocent life lost to a psychopathic vampire with an unquenchable hunger and nothing to lose. Within an hour, the village was eerily silent. The screams of terror had vanished. There was no one left. No one.

He stops here. He's too ashamed to go on. And besides, there's nothing left to tell. He wants to cry, to mourn for those people a century and a half later, but he doesn't have the right. He's sorry, so fucking sorry, but saying it would sound empty like trying to cover a stake through the heart with a band-aid. Instead he sits. In absolute silence.

This is the part when she should get up and leave. Decide that no matter how much she loves him it's not enough. She could never forgive him those deaths plus the thousands of others he's caused.

But she doesn't.

Because she does love him enough. She does forgive him this and the countless others. And although he tries to push her away, tries to convince her to run and never look back, she doesn't listen. Refuses to listen. Because love isn't about seeing someone's faults and loving them in spite of. Love is about seeing the faults and loving them because of. He sinks into her arms and she holds him. Just holds him.

They are two weakened souls, but maybe. Just maybe. They can be healed.


	6. Chapter 6

She admits that sometimes she feels lonely.

Even though she has him. Even though she has her family and friends, she still feels lonely. She leans against the headboard, tilting her head back until all she can see is the ceiling. She can't look at him while she admits these things. She can't face him while she confesses that although their relationship means the world to her, it still doesn't fill all the voids. She knows he won't be upset. Knows that he won't take it personally. It's just that saying it feels like a betrayal even when it isn't.

He understands that he can't ever truly complete her. Try as he might, there will always be holes in her heart that have nothing to do with him. Have nothing to do with their relationship, with their love. He props his head on his arm, lying by her knees. From this angle, he feels so much smaller than her. Feels like she is the one who has lived nearly a century and a half and he is the little boy looking to her for wisdom. He closes his eyes and listens to her whisper.

She acknowledges that she has never felt like she belongs. She always feels that she stands out and not in the good way. He nods his head because he knows what she means. Never feeling like a part of the greater society is something he easily identifies with. It's all a part of being who he is. Being what he is. She's glad he understands but knows that his feelings of social isolation are not the same as hers. He has a very definitive reason. She, on the other hand, doesn't appear to have any reason whatsoever. Her loneliness stems from something else, something deeper than just the obvious wounds – dead parents, habitual lies, vampire boyfriend.

This goes further. Tunnels into the very core of her, affecting her in ways she never could have imagined. She longs for something that is hers.

Just hers.

Something that she can keep within. Something that no one else need know about.

He rests his head by her knees, staring at the stain on her jeans, the one caused by the mixture of ice cream and hot fudge the day they picnicked in his backyard. He doesn't try to touch her, afraid she might think he's trying to take away her pain, claim it as his own. Of course he would in an instant, but that's not what she wants right now. What she wants is to own her sorrow, her pain. She wants to drag herself across the coals and feel it burn.

Only then will she conquer it. Only then will she be able to let it go.

She continues to peel off the layers, laying them in order at his feet. She reveals her feelings of inadequacy. Her feelings of worthlessness. She remembers the times when nothing made sense to her but seemed to make sense to everyone else. She remembers waking up in the hospital after the accident and wondering how this became her life. When and where did she suddenly lose herself? She can't pinpoint the exact time or place, leaving her no choice but to assume that it crept up on her. She knows that's a lie the second the words leave her mouth, and she admits as much.

She knows how it happened.

She knows that she handed out pieces of herself like raffle tickets, each one more precious than the last. Each one costing her more and more. She sighs and stops talking, unsure about whether or not she should continue. Admitting these things hurts, like rubbing broken glass against the skin. She's rubbing herself raw.

He knows. She counts on his knowing.

He grabs her calves and pulls her down so that they are leveled, eye to eye. She has her eyes closed and keeps them closed even as he strokes her hair. Calming her. Coaxing her from behind the walls. She opens her eyes, and they stare at each other.

Neither of them says a word. Neither of them has to.

This silence says it all.


	7. Chapter 7

If they were to count up all of their losses…

She refuses to think about that now. She won't be morose.

Not tonight.

As she lies on her back on his bed, she can smell the lilac from the vase on the table in the corner of his room. He had bought them for her, knowing how much she loves lilacs, knowing they are her favorite flower. He surprised her when she walked into the room, holding them aloft like he so oftentimes did with his heart, offering them to her.

The love was implied.

After she had found a vase and put them on the table where she could see them – stare at them, take in their simple beauty – they slow danced.

Right there. In the middle of his room.

The fact that he hated to dance didn't escape her. The fact that there was no music didn't faze her. The fact that he did this just because he wanted to hold her close and make her happy made her smile against his shoulder. She wishes it could always be like this. A slow dance and a bouquet of lilacs.

Forever.

But the sun always rises, and school, family, and friends are always there, waiting for them to emerge from his room. Exhausted but exhilarated. Pieces of them still missing but yet the lingering feeling that they are somehow complete. She closes her eyes and smiles to herself while he walks her through the seventies.

Bell bottoms and polyester which he abhorred. Partying at Studio 54 with handpicked celebrities. A line of people wrapping around the building, hoping against hope that they would somehow – miraculously – be admitted. He laughs as he admits that he wouldn't have been allowed in on his own merit, on his looks alone. He had to compel the doorman Marc Benecke and work his way through the crowd. He was amazed at the audacity of drug users, shooting up in the bathroom, snorting lines of cocaine at the tables. The disco music blared, and he sat at Liza Minnelli's table, exchanging small talk and rebuffing the offers to dance. He hadn't particularly wanted to go to Studio 54, but he was leaving for Harvard in the morning, and he wanted one last hurrah. One night of chaos to get him through four years of nothing but books and papers, midterms and finals.

He talks about how much that time meant to him. How he felt a strange camaraderie with the other students. Striking up friendships over coffee and discussions about Descartes, Nietzsche and Freud. He got close to certain people but never too close, wanting to keep himself hidden. There was this girl Evelyn who seemed intrigued by him. She always wanted to get him alone under the guise of studying or sharing notes, wanting to pick his brain about the Soviets or Stephen Hawking. He held her off by always coming up with some excuse or other, disappearing the moment he saw her coming.

He looks over at her, trying to gauge her reaction to his talk about another girl. A girl who meant nothing to him – a nuisance really – but still another girl.

She has no reaction. She won't be jealous of a girl from thirty years back. A girl who probably has a family, a dog, a successful law practice in Boston. She laughs, and he smirks. He wants to know why the laughter. Her first instinct is to blow off his question, give him no reason, and have him continue his story, but then she remembers.

No secrets. Not here. Not in the safety of his bed.

She should know better by now.

So she tells him. Tells him about her fantasy life for this girl. If she is happy. If she ever still thinks about him from time to time, about the one who got away. He doubts it, but she insists. He's not as easy to write off as he thinks he is. Something about him sucks a girl in – no pun intended – making her feel special. Maybe it's the way he looks at her, or the way he listens like everything she has to say is the most important thing he's ever heard.

He only feels that way about her.

No one else.

Never anyone else.

Those looks, those feelings are reserved for her. Her heart beats faster because she believes it to be true. Knows that it is true. He leans up and strokes her hair. Kisses her forehead. Both her eyelids. Her lips. They smile at each other. Enough has been said.

For tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

First, I would love to thank all of those who review my story. You have no idea what your kind words mean to me! Thank you very, very much. Second, I would like to provide a warning before this chapter. It contains a sensitive topic for some: God and religion. I apologize beforehand to anyone who feels offended. Of course, that is not my intent. I simply delve into topics that are never discussed on the show, trying to fill in the blanks for not just me but for others as well.

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He has never spoken about his childhood. Not with anyone.

He lays on the edge of the bed, staring at the ceiling. She sits cross-legged next to him, braiding her hair and trying to appear nonchalant. Inside she is itching to hear about what he was like as a child. She craves knowing that he wasn't always so serious. That at some point he was carefree and filled with laughter.

Of course she understands people change. She's changed. And she hasn't lived nearly as long as he has. She hasn't seen as much or _done _as much. He carries all of that with him, an entourage of guilt, despair, and loneliness. She often wonders how he can bear to rise in the morning. Get out of bed. Live his life. She would have cracked years ago. Would have driven a stake through her own heart in the hopes of being able to salvage some semblance of her former self.

He knows what she's thinking.

They seem to speak their own language now, sending each other telepathic messages sometimes without even being aware of it. They are often shocked by this realization. Neither of them ever thought they would become this close to another person.

While she ties up her braid and flicks it over her shoulder, he tells her that suicide isn't so easy for him. First and foremost, he is a vampire. His instinct is to survive at any cost. Even if it means going underground, hiding for months on end, he would do it. He's done it before. It's not that hard. It wasn't until he met her that he even thought of putting someone else before him, of risking his life and general well-being to save her.

Even when his very nature opposed it. Even when it scratched and clawed at him to run and save himself, he didn't. He stood right there and fought for her. It was the only thing he's ever truly wanted to do.

Second, well, second is that he's Catholic. Suicide is a big no-no. He was taught that it was a direct route to hell. Although he figures he might be going there anyway – what with everything he's done…

He pauses and remains silent. They've never spoken about God and religion before. He doesn't even know if she was raised in a particular religion, if she even believes in God. He's not sure that he does. He would love to.

He rubs his hands over his face while she stares down at him, urging him to continue. She knows he needs to be pushed so she pushes. She tells him she wants him to finish his train of thought. She knows this is leading to something big, something important. Something that could ultimately be a game-changer. He can't change the subject now. Not when he's so close to revealing a part of himself that she needs to see. Stop hiding. This is a safe place. Remember? He looks up at her with a furrowed brow. He knows she's right. He sighs and goes on.

As a child, he had that blind faith like most children raised in religion do. God was in the sky, and he had to be good if he wanted to go to heaven. That was it. No other explanation needed. As he grew older, he accepted what the priests told him. No questions asked. And still, decades later, he wonders.

According to church teachings, his existence is an abomination. He is a demon. Satan's spawn. Evil dressed up as a seventeen year old boy.

But is he evil?

Yes, he has done evil things. He has murdered with abandon, feeding on his father, and betraying his own brother. But he has repented. These past few decades have been an act of repentance.

Can he be forgiven?

It's a pleading question, one that brings him close to tears. He's desperate.

She lies down next to him and wraps her arm around his waist, laying her head on his chest. She consoles him, but not in the way that one might think.

He has done evil things. There's no denying that. He has to accept it. The whole point of repentance is to acknowledge those acts, own up to them. Then let them go.

He can never truly escape them. They will cling to him forever. But he can forgive himself for them.

She forgives him.

He lets out a breath that he's been holding for over a century, and she says it again. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tight as she whispers in his ear that she forgives him.

She repeats this phrase, over and over again, throughout the night.


	9. Chapter 9

He remembers the time when he ached for this closeness.

They lay side by side at the head of the bed curled in the fetal position and staring at each other. He can look at her when he tells her this. It's not something he's ashamed of.

Not entirely.

He tells her that at first he was merely confirming that she wasn't Katherine reincarnated. He wanted to know that there wasn't a snake in the grass, a monster lurking in Mystic Falls once again.

So he stalked her more or less.

She laughs at this because he says it in a voice that is a combination of teasing and seriousness, stating the truth but also joking about it. He's trying to make it sound less creepy.

That day on the bridge he made sure an ambulance was called. He stood there with her, performing CPR until the paramedics arrived. He disappeared into the woods, watching from a distance while the EMTS struggled to save her life. They finally stabilized her enough to move her to the hospital.

He followed.

He stood in the emergency room as they worked on her, trying to save a girl whose parents were already pronounced dead at the scene. The doctors all remarked that she was lucky. She hadn't been underwater long enough to cause any permanent brain damage. She had emerged from the wreckage practically unscathed. A few cuts and bruises. A broken leg. They had to set it, prepping her for surgery while she was still unconscious. Everyone marveled at how she survived. No one could make out how she had gotten out of the car and made it to the bridge. Surely someone was there. Or had she saved herself?

Months later, she would be the only one who knew the truth.

He waited outside during the surgery, listening to them operate on her. When they were finally done and moved her to a room, he waited with her. No family had come yet. No friends. The nurses and doctors were busy. No one bothered them. No one even saw him.

He didn't want her to be alone.

By the time people started arriving, he had already gone out the window. His mind was reeling. He was trying desperately to make sense out of all of this. How could she look so much like Katherine when she wasn't even related to her? Was she Katherine? He needed to know. So he watched her.

He saw how everyone rushed to her side when news of the accident broke. The care and love they all showed while standing guard at her bedside. She was like a princess in a fairytale, he says. All the people were just milling about, waiting for the moment when she would awaken from her seemingly eternal sleep, holding their breaths and counting the minutes.

He did the same.

He would sit outside in the waiting room, pretending to read outdated magazines while waiting for word from a doctor about a loved one. He would watch the clock out of the corner of his eye and listen in on the conversations in her room. Teary confessions of love and friendship. The boy who held her hand and begged her to wake up, kissing her lips with the hope of a fairytale prince that her eyes would flutter open, she would smile, and the two would live happily ever after.

It didn't work that way.

Her eyes remained closed and unresponsive. The monitors beeped and stood steady. There were never any spikes of activity. He would lie in wait until visiting hours ended, hiding in the janitor's closet until the graveyard shift started. He would sneak into her room and read the get well cards, noting names that were repeated. He would then sit in the chair at her bedside and sigh with relief.

This was his time with her.

He would study her face, noting any changes. The healing of her bruises and cuts. Whether anyone had brushed her hair or exercised her limbs. Once he was satisfied that she was being well taken care of, he would begin talking. He had heard that talking to coma patients helped them, that they could hear what people said. It started out simple enough. He would inform her of the weather, describing the sun and the melting snow. The grass and the budding leaves. He'd tell her how fast she seemed to be recuperating. They were just waiting for her to emerge from her sleep. He tried to be as upbeat as possible, counteracting the tears and pleads from her other visitors. He told her not to rush. Just to wake up when she was ready.

He liked to tell her stories of the past the way he does now. Except these stories had nothing to do with his life. He told her about legendary figures: Lincoln, Churchill, Eisenhower, Dr. King, Kennedy. He shared with her the gossip of the hospital. Which doctor was fooling around with which nurse. Who had custody issues. Whose husband was a lazy, lard ass who was sucking the life out of his hardworking and increasingly fed up wife. He was always amazed by the drama of human lives. He felt like no matter how long he lived, he would never cease to be surprised by what they could do to each other.

Sometimes while talking, he would stroke her arm or hold her hand. He loved touching her. Loved seeing how he could make her heart monitor spike. He liked to think this meant something.

He liked to think it was a sign.

Once the sun began to rise and the nurses changed shifts, he would squeeze her hand goodbye and go out the window. He'd head home and take a shower, drink _something_ and then head out again. When he wasn't at the hospital, he spent his days researching her. Looking up her birth certificate, her school records, her medical history. He found out she was a good student. She participated in activities, organizing bake sales and car washes. She broke her arm when she was six, got stitches when she was nine. And…she was adopted. He wasn't sure if she knew. No one ever mentioned it, but why would they? He stored the information and moved on.

She's puzzled.

She understands why he would research her at first – this makes her sound like a science project – but why continue? At what point did this go from being a chore to being a hobby? He shakes his head. She was never a chore to him. He was just curious but as his curiosity grew, he began to care for her. She was never a fantasy or an idea. He knew she had flaws. She wasn't perfect.

At this she narrows her eyes and pretends to be angry but ends up laughing once he smirks. She stops when he looks at her as though he can see into her, as though he is trying to caress her soul. He fell in love with her because he couldn't imagine a better person than her. He couldn't imagine loving anyone but her.

She leans over and kisses him. Tears well up in her eyes. All her life she's dreamt of being loved like this.

Unconditionally.


	10. Chapter 10

He was Katherine's pet.

That's what she needs to know about their entire relationship. He meant absolutely nothing to her. Not a damn thing.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He hates talking about this. Hates remembering Katherine in any way.

She understands. She knows what a manipulative, vindictive bitch she was, but regardless, she was a part of his life. A part that he needs to tell her. They don't hold anything back. They're not supposed to. Those are the rules.

He nods his head. He knows what the rules are, but just this once, can't they skip it? Why is this so important? It's a part of his life he hates revisiting.

She stares at him from her position at the foot of the bed, cross-legged and angry. She stares at him until he can't ignore her eyes on him, until he has no choice but to look at her. None of the things they talk about are things they necessarily want to revisit. Doesn't he know that? Doesn't he know that there are things she didn't want to remember but did anyway? For him? Don't chicken out now. They've already come so far. There's no point in turning back. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and begins.

Katherine was never his. She didn't belong to anyone no matter what Damon says or thinks. She didn't care for him either.

He remembers both the good and the bad.

Except the bad came later.

He admits – although he hates to do it – that he was in love with her. He didn't realize at the time how sick that love was. How perverse. How twisted. Truth be told, it wasn't even love. Not one drop of feeling was love. It was a lie. It was all a fucking lie.

He sits up, suddenly filled with a rage he hasn't felt in decades. Out of all of this, does she know what the worst part was? It wasn't the false love, or the face of kindness she put on. It wasn't even the bloodlust. It was the fact that she stole his brother from him.

His _brother_. His flesh and blood. The only person whom he had ever truly counted on and loved.

She ripped them apart. Made them tear each other to pieces just so she could have a little fun. Just so she could be amused. He lost his brother so she could giggle.

The vehemence in his voice scares her. She hasn't heard this tone before, hasn't seen this side of him. The rage and hatred makes her wish she had never brought up the subject. Maybe she should have left it alone.

But no. She needs to hear this, needs to know this. Needs to pay close attention.

After it was all said and done, he had nothing left.

Not his father.

Not his brother.

Not his life.

And he sure as hell didn't have Katherine. As far as he knew, Katherine was dead. Burned alive because of his mistake. He lived with that guilt for years. For years he carried around her death like a fucking cancer, letting it eat away at him because he couldn't bear the thought of forgiving himself. He let his brother hate him, allowing him to make his eternity miserable as repentance. And all the while…

He moves away from her, crawling up the bed to sit against the headboard, clenching his fists. He could kill her. He could _kill_ her. She stole everything in his life that was valuable enough to steal. Even if he ran into her now, even if he became crazy enough to track her down, she would never apologize. She would never explain. She would merely laugh in his face and tell him she only took what he gave her.

And he gave her everything.

She didn't even have to ask.

No, he wouldn't track her down. He'd wait the bitch out. He knew Katherine enough to know that eventually she would become curious. She would want to see him, to see Damon. She would come to them and not the other way around.

She's afraid to reach out to him. For the first time, she is ashamed of her face. The memories it must conjure up for him. The emotions. She hides her face in her hands because she doesn't want him to see it. She wants to spare him this.

His hands are suddenly on her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. He tilts her chin up until she's looking into his eyes. She is not Katherine. He knows that. If there is only one thing that she should know, it is that he does not think of Katherine when he looks at her. He only sees Elena Gilbert.

She's all he will ever see.

He wraps his arms around her, and her head nestles in the crook of his neck. This demon of his has not been conquered. They both know that.

But one day – hopefully one day soon – it will be.


	11. Chapter 11

He didn't always try to avoid Damon. It wasn't like it is now.

At first, he missed his brother terribly. Missed the companionship. Missed his best friend. He lies on his side, propping his head up on his hand and then smoothly – gracefully – he rolls onto his back. She moves from her position at the foot of the bed, crawling towards him until she is lying next to him, placing her hand in his. They lie like this in silence for a while, absorbing the close contact, staring at their clasped hands. His mind wanders back to his brother, and he continues.

Being a newly turned vampire is never easy especially if you're doing it alone. When he first transitioned, he never thought he would be going through it by himself. He thought like everything major in their lives from their mother's death to Katherine, they would be sharing this experience. They do but not together. The separation, the distance between them is too large and too deep. It's not what he envisioned when he feed from his father. He had delusions of grandeur.

He was sadly mistaken.

Now he doesn't think it will ever be the same. Yes, they still save each other from peril. They still feel that sense of loyalty to each other. They're brothers after all. The same blood flows through their veins, calling to each other. Even when at odds, they are brothers. No matter what Damon says.

He holds out hope that Damon will change, that the love between them will be acknowledged. That things will become like they once were. But as the decades pass, that hope has dwindled to the size of a pebble. It's still there, but it's looking less and less likely. That is until…

He doesn't finish the sentence. Out of fear. Out of his own jealousy and insecurity.

She knows how that sentence ends. Until Damon met _her_. Until he claimed to be in love with _her_. It's a sensitive subject, one they've been so careful to avoid. They've mentioned it to each other at first just as a precaution. Just as a clarification, assuring similar feelings, declaring love and faithfulness. They have not dug deeper. Have not discussed what this little twist in the road means.

But now is the time.

Now it is safe.

He lets go of her hand and sits up as she does the same until they are sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at each other. She begins.

She knows he's worried but honestly, this little revelation means nothing to her. It's not even a blip on the radar. She has no feelings for Damon other than those of friendship. She loves him and only him. That will not change. He sighs. He knows this.

He _knows_ this.

But still. His mind can't help imagining scenarios that will lead her to Damon and not him. There are none in her mind, but there are plenty in his. What if he goes back to human blood? What if something happens to him? What if he hurts her in some unforgivable way?

What if, what if, what if.

These are just natural possibilities. Life has shown that there are plenty of possibilities beyond the natural.

They don't matter. None of them matter. She refuses to live with that fear overhead. She's done it before for too many years. She won't do it again. Let's get to the center of it all. Let's cut to the chase. He and Damon have a history of falling for the same woman with her face.

But not her personality.

Hasn't she proven that?

Of course, but his insecurities lie deep along with his jealousy. They're embedded into the very core of him. He's been in this situation before, and it didn't turn out well for him. That situation occurred, but not with her.

Remember.

Please remember.

She is not Katherine. Will never be Katherine. No matter what he imagines or what Damon wishes. She will not be her.

She reaches out to him, and they embrace, enveloping each other completely. He closes his eyes and although he has been reassured, he can't help but think. She may not be Katherine. Will never be Katherine. But Damon is still Damon.

And that's what he's afraid of.


	12. Chapter 12

She sometimes dreams of death.

She can't seem to help it. She's surrounded by it.

He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, trying to hide the look of anguish and guilt covering his face. This is his fault. He brought her into this world of blood and gore. His whole life has been a horror story, and now he's dragging her into the thick of it. Making her his bride of Frankenstein. He should have known this is how it would be. He should have known when he discovered her, when he loved her, it would only bring her into his life of ruin.

He thinks he's done a very selfish thing in being with her.

To her, that is not the case.

He was not the one who brought death into her life. It was already there, taking up space and making her wish she didn't exist. She moves from one side of the bed to the other, coming to sit next to him, leaning over him with her hair framing her face. She teases him, saying that contrary to his belief, he is not the center of the universe, and therefore, cannot take the blame for everything that happens in the world.

For everything that happens in _her_ world.

He fakes a smile. To him, this is no laughing matter. He's brought awful things into her life. Things she would have been better off not knowing.

But in order to not know these things, he would have to not be in her life.

And she doesn't think she could live with that.

She sighs and continues even though she knows this is a conversation he'd rather not have. But that is the point of their whole little social experiment. Isn't it? To have the conversations that neither wants to have except with themselves? He nods his head for her to continue.

These death dreams are usually very simple. Sometimes, a friend dies. Bonnie, Caroline, Matt. Those are heartbreaking. She dreams that she is at their funerals, and she doesn't know who it is until she looks into the casket.

Until she sees a face.

Only then does she begin to grieve.

Other times, it is Jenna or Jeremy who dies. Loved ones come to surround her as she mourns another family member, as the numbers slowly dwindle down to just one.

To just her.

These dreams are never easy either. She cries in her sleep and wakes to wet pillows and puffy eyes. Then, there are those dreams where it is she who is dead. She who is lying in the coffin.

In those dreams, she is a bystander, a non-participating third party, watching the mayhem take place in front of her. She sees heartrending tears and blank faces. Jeremy recedes further into himself, and Jenna cannot shake the sobs. Her friends mourn, and there is a full page spread of her in the yearbook. Both Damon and he leave town. Both off to places unknown to grieve in their own way. Damon gets lost at the bottom of a bottle, and Stefan…

She stops here because she sees his face. Sees that he is close to tears. He doesn't want to talk about her dying.

Ever.

The subject will have to be broached some time. She is a mortal surrounded by the undead. The topic will eventually come up. She means this to be a joke, but it falls flat. Her voice is too strained.

They remain silent. Neither of them looks at each other. She stares at the duvet, and he stares at the ceiling. Both are trying hard to ignore the awkwardness of the situation, but someone will have to break the silence.

She whispers.

Does he know what dream is the worst? It's the one that concerns him. The one that deals with his dying. She knows it's a silly thought. Technically, he can't die but still. She dreams it anyway. In these, she can't find him. She looks everywhere. His house and school. There are so few places in town he would actually be. By the time she gets back home, frantic and confused, they are all there. Friends and family gather around, but no one will tell her anything. She asks and asks, demands and pleads, but all anyone will say is that he's gone.

Left town.

Will never be back.

She doesn't believe them. He would never leave like that without saying good-bye. Please.

_Please_. She just wants to know he's safe.

It's not until Damon appears that she knows the truth. He doesn't even say anything. The look on his face is enough. It is then that she wakes up, sobbing and heart aching in her chest.

What would she do?

It is she now who is close to tears. He sits up and wraps his arms around her. He wants to prove to her that he is here. He is not dead – well, he is but not dead and gone. He is dead and _here_.

They melt into each other.

They are both here.


	13. Chapter 13

I just want to thank all of my readers and my reviewers! Thank you, thank you, thank you. You all have no idea what your wonderful words of encouragement mean to me. Anyway, on with the show...

* * *

She misses her best friend.

The smell of rain drifts through the open window, stirring the drapes and calming her nerves. It's been a long day, and this has been the highlight of it. He rolls onto his back, one knee bent as the other lies straight. He folds one arm underneath his head and stares at the ceiling, listening intently to what she has to offer. The sound of distant thunder is heard by both, and he knows that he should get up, close the window, but he has no desire to move. Another unspoken rule. Don't leave the bed until the night is over. Until the dawn disturbs the midnight magic.

She sits with her legs outstretched at the foot of the bed, wiggling painted toenails. She takes a deep breath, trying to relax and soaking in the moment. She closes her eyes and for a moment tries to dispel her fraying nerves and the need to cry. If she doesn't stop herself now, she may never be able to stop. They may float on a lake of her tears, using his bed as a raft. She smiles at the thought of the two of them using her tears to carry them away from this town and all of its nightmares.

He wonders at her smile, and she explains. He knows she loves this town. It's the town of her birth, his birth. They have fought together, side by side, to save it from destruction time and again, but the strain is unimaginable. Giving all of their strength and loyalty to something inanimate, something that will never love them back is a depressing thought, but one that comes to mind all the same. They're saving the innocence of the town while losing their own in the battle.

A vicious cycle.

A burden.

A necessity.

That's why she misses her best friend. She longs for the days when things were simple. When all she had to worry about was school and recreational activities. How her hair looked and what shade of lip gloss to wear. She can never go back to those carefree and superficial days. Those are behind her, and she has absolutely no idea what lies ahead. The future is a blank slate, a gaping black hole. All she knows is that he belongs in her future. A topic they have yet to discuss, but now is not the time for it. Neither one of them is ready to tackle that subject just yet. It's another complication of their relationship that will have to be broached, but for now, they are being just a boy and a girl, sharing secrets and stealing kisses.

Not vampire and human but Stefan and Elena.

She knows what happened between her and Bonnie. There was a decision that was made, a line drawn in the sand, and according to Bonnie, she chose the wrong side. Standing intertwined with him is too much for Bonnie to bear, not because she blames him for any wrongdoing. No Bonnie saves that blame for his brother. When it comes down to it, all fingers point to Damon and Stefan is just an accessory.

An accomplice. An obstruction of justice. But he is not the culprit.

The reason behind Bonnie's hate – too strong, maybe dislike – doesn't even stem from the fact that he is a vampire and she is a witch. Not natural enemies per say but not allies either. What this all comes down to is that she chose Stefan over Bonnie. Over her best friend.

And that is a betrayal that may never be forgiven.

It's heart wrenching to know that she and Bonnie will never be the same. One day they may be just regular friends again, but they won't be as close as they once were. There will always be distance between them. Awkward silences and stunted dialogue. They will defend each other out of a sense of loyalty and love, but it will not be because they couldn't imagine carrying on without each other. They both know that they could. And she never thought it would come to this.

Not once.

They'd been best friends since kindergarten, striking up their friendship just because they had the same color Kool-Aid. They practically lived the same life, attached at the hip and sharing everything under the sun.

Then things changed. She went down one path and Bonnie went down another, and although they can see each other in the distance, their paths will never merge. Not now anyway.

Guilt washes over him, and he apologizes. He knows his presence has created a rift, and he would fix it if he could, but he knows he can't.

And she wouldn't want him to.

At this point and time, they know not to push the issue. Let sleeping dogs lie and all of that. They don't want the ire of Bonnie raining down on them. She's already threatened Stefan once. Who knows what this new Bonnie is capable of now? She won't hurt Elena on purpose, they both know that, but if push came to shove and she got in the way, Bonnie would do what she had to.

No question.

Lightening flashes and thunder claps. He really should close the window, but instead, they curl up into each other, hands and legs winding around bodies.

The storm will pass as it always does. Until then, they'll just wait it out.

Together.


	14. Chapter 14

Should they talk about Isobel?

He is tracing the curve of her hip when these words spill from his mouth. The moment is divine. She is melting into his touch, but just like that the feeling shatters. Those words send shivers through her body, and she feels herself turn cold. She rolls away from him, sitting up and flashing a look of disgust. Why bring her up? As far as she's concerned, they have no relationship besides that of DNA. End of story.

But that's not the end, is it? He sits up as well, knowing that he's upset her but also knowing it had to be done. Not once in all of these nights has she mentioned her. It was time. He knows it's a sensitive subject, knows that she doesn't want to think about her, but it's necessary. Isobel is her mother.

At that, she moves further away from him, ending up at the foot of the bed. Isobel is _not_ her mother. Her mother is dead. Isobel is merely the woman who gave birth to her. Now, cut it out.

But he can't. He won't. He knows she needs to release all of this, let it flow from her, but she's just so damn stubborn. She won't let it go unless by force. So he forces her. Like it or not, Isobel is her biological mother. No matter what happens, mother and daughter will be forever intertwined.

That's all it takes.

Isobel may be her birth mother, but other than that, she has absolutely nothing to do with her life. She was never there. Her mother was the one who raised her, who feed her, who cared for her. She helped her with her homework and took her to soccer practice. Her mother was the one who held her hand, the woman she turned to, always and forever. Even now.

Even when she is dead.

What did Isobel ever do for her except carry her for nine months? Giving birth to a child does not a mother make. It's all the little things that count. And there are no little things where Isobel is concerned. She threatened to kill her. She tried to kill Stefan. She lied. She murdered with abandon. There are no redeeming qualities to this woman. She is evil, pure and simple. She is Katherine just decades later.

What she hates the most is that their blood, Isobel's and Katherine's, flows in her veins. She is their inheritance. They are her ancestors. Their story is her story.

And that burns her.

How could she possibly be related to people like this? She imagines this is what he must feel. No matter how much she wants to distant herself from the atrocity of it all, she is still tied to them. Their crimes are her crimes. She can never fully break away.

She damns her blood. She wishes she could drain herself of it, but that is an impossibility. She is stuck with it.

For life.

She is burdened with the knowledge that her biological parents are a sadistic vampire and a conniving son of a bitch. What does she do with that? How does she prevent that from drowning her?

But she can't lie. Not about this. Not to him.

It hurts. It all fucking hurts. She went from having two loving parents to having two monsters. Her birth parents want nothing to do with her. Neither of them cares about her. Both want her boyfriend dead. And both are willing to kill her to do it.

Isn't that just the most pathetic thing he's ever heard?

She sighs and lies down again. She's tired of this. Tired of caring. Tired of hurting. For just a few minutes, she wants peace.

And him.

He moves from his position on the bed and lies down next to her, resuming tracing her hip. He knows how devastating all of this is to her. He knows he's not really one to talk, but she shouldn't consider their sins her sins. He knows he can't take any of this away from her. He knows that nothing he says will make it all better, but please remember.

They are not their parents. They are better. They love more and hurt less.

He knows they have the problem of taking everyone else's issues onto their own shoulders, but sometimes they need to remember that other people's shit is just that.

She closes her eyes and breathes in the peace that he brings her. She lets herself fall into the feeling of his fingertips on her hip. She loves him.

And right now, that's the only thing that makes sense.


	15. Chapter 15

This is the first crack in the wall.

This is how it begins.

She wishes things could go back to the way they were.

She lies down on her stomach with her head resting on her crossed arms. She looks at the head of the bed where he sits, leaning against the headboard. He averts his eyes. She knows that those words just sent a wave of guilt and hurt through him, but it had to be said. It's what she's feeling, and she won't lie about it. She remains lying on her stomach but lifts her head up, uncrossing her arms and staring at her fingernails.

Admit it. Doesn't he long for normal as well?

He remains silent for a beat or two before giving his response. Normal is no longer a word in his vocabulary. If things were normal, he would be dead and buried, not here talking to her on his bed. So does he long for normal? Yes and no. He longs for things to be normal for her. He wants her to be able to live a life without fear of retaliation from vampires, from witches, from whatever else comes their way. On the other hand, if normal means not being here with her, then he'd rather be abnormal. He'd rather be a vampire and live a miserable eternity with Damon's vengeful shadow following him everywhere then never to have met her. He's sorry that he brought all of these awful things into her life. He tried to leave once, but…

She shakes her head. No, he's misunderstood her. She doesn't regret him. She won't regret him.

She just regrets everything else.

All of the shit that has crept into their lives is shit caused by other people. Not him. If everyone else just left them alone, went off somewhere to take their wrath out on each other, then everything would be great.

But they won't. So everything isn't.

What she's trying to say is that she used to want her life to be extraordinary. Now all she wants is to be ordinary again. She hates always looking over one shoulder. Hates constantly worrying about things that she can no longer control. People pop in and out of her life so quickly it makes her head hurt. She finds herself wondering how in the hell did this turn into her life?

He takes this personally. How can he not? She's not directly attacking him. She's not even pointing the finger at him. But the way she's talking – the anger in her voice – is somehow aimed at him. This is not how she means it, but it's true. She doesn't want to blame him, would probably never truly blame him, but it is partly his fault. Granted, he didn't bring armageddon down on them, but he did contribute to it.

Just by his mere presence.

He can't apologize more than he has. He doesn't know what to say anymore. He doesn't know how to respond. There are no words that can heal this fissure.

She rolls onto her back, covering her face with her hands and letting out a frustrated sigh. She didn't mean to start anything. She should have just left well enough alone, but this had been festering in her mind for days now, and she wanted to talk about it. Needed to talk about it. She wanted to stop it from eating away at her like so many other things. Doesn't he get tired of lying? She feels as if her entire life has become just one gigantic lie.

But little by little, it is all crumbling.

Jeremy has found out. Jeremy fell in love with a vampire. One that has tried to kill her. Caroline found Vicki's body. Matt's world is destroyed. Bonnie doesn't speak to her unless absolutely necessary. Her biological father is a douchebag. Her mother is a sadistic creature. Damon is supposedly in love with her. And her aunt is dating a vampire hunter who was once married to her vampiric mother.

She laughs. She can't help but laugh. When said out loud, it all sounds so ridiculous.

He laughs as well. Her laughter is contagious.

Soon, both are rolling around on the bed laughing hysterically. Tears are streaming down their cheeks. She gasps for breath, and his stomach hurts.

They continue chuckling to themselves while holding hands. The clock reads 1:00 AM.

A crack in the wall, yes.

But it's not enough to bring it down.


	16. Chapter 16

Thanks again to all my kind and lovely readers and reviewers! I love hearing all of your responses, and even if you do not respond, knowing that there are some people reading this is more than I could ever have hoped for so thanks again. I would also like to inform you that this chapter is a bit different from the others, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

* * *

They do not talk.

Tonight is not a night for talking.

Their lives have become something of a horror film recently. Blood splashes every aspect of their lives. Death has left no one untouched in this tiny town. It seems that no one can escape.

But they try anyway.

Fear of losing each other to dangers known has created a sense of urgency in them. They need to feel alive. They need to feel each other's life. They need to hold it in their hands. Make sure it is all real.

They agreed to meet in his room like it was any other night. She arrived first. Filled with restless energy, she moved from his bookcases to his windows, jumping every time she heard a sound. Finally, he arrived. It was raining out. He was soaked.

Neither of them cared.

He pulled her to him, and they embraced, holding each other for the sake of contact. Pure joy raced through their veins. They had survived another day. They had made it to another night. They stood like this for minutes, just absorbing the contact.

Then the kissing began. Soft and sweet. Nothing rough. Nothing that would hurt. They had enough pain in their lives at the moment. There was no use in inflicting more. Slowly…slowly, they began to disrobe each other. This was the one place in the world where they could take their time. They needed to make the feelings last. Who knew when they would get this chance again?

They were always astounded at their own nakedness. Neither of them flinched. Neither was ashamed. They had shared far more intimate details of their lives with each other to be ashamed of something like this. Confiding of deep dark secrets results in lack of inhibition.

At least in their case.

This is when the exploration begins. The tracing of curves. The kissing of scars. Lovers' hands mold flesh, leading to the ultimate desire. He kisses the birth mark on her hip. She runs her finger around the tattoo on his arm. She asked him about that once. A tattoo seemed so unlike him. What possessed him to get one? He laughed and admitted that it was the result of a drunken night in Switzerland back in 1942. He was hiding there during the war…

She doesn't let her mind finish this memory. His breath is hot on her stomach, sending shivers through her. She feels him smile against her skin when her body responds to him.

It seems that they have set the air on fire. There are clasped hands. Closed eyes. Declarations of love. A thundering heartbeat. And then…and then… the completion of this act of love. How can one describe it? They are too hazy for words. They are too lost within each other to contemplate anything else but this act, this moment.

She lays her head against his chest, feeling it rise and fall.

Tonight, once again, they make each other complete.


	17. Chapter 17

He waits for her in his room.

But he's not sure she's coming.

He sits on his bed, leaning against the headboard. With pen in hand, he opens his journal to a fresh page and begins to write.

This bubbling evil is beginning to take its toll on them. They're disquieted. They are in constant motion, fidgeting, afraid to stay still for too long. Afraid that something may catch them off guard, may destroy them. Living with these possibilities is draining them.

And they have begun to take it out on each other.

She thinks he's being too overprotective. He's smothering her, she claims. She wants to accomplish too much on her own. She wants to fight back. Scratch and claw at danger and come out victorious. But in his world, that is not how these things work. In his life, scratching and clawing is how you get yourself killed. And he will not lose her. Not to this kind of death.

She doesn't see his point of view. He doesn't think her weak the way she says he does. Quite the contrary. He knows how strong she is. He knows that when she puts her mind to something, she does it. But she's in over her head. He can't keep her alive if she's constantly running at death, waving her arms and drawing attention. At this rate if he looks away for even a moment, her neck will be snapped.

She doesn't understand this. She doesn't see his reasoning. Every action and every thought has a purpose. There is calculated reasoning behind every movement, every gesture. There can be no mistakes. How else can they get through this alive? Certainly not her way. It's best to leave this up to him and Damon.

Fucking Damon.

Always getting involved. Always trying to turn her mind against him. Damon and his plans. His solution consists of them packing Elena up and getting the hell out of Dodge. He knows that if they leave this town will be covered in blood, but he'd rather save his own neck than keep the people of this town alive.

He's sick of death. That's all his life has become since he turned. Death. Destruction. Blood and broken bodies. People and lives torn asunder. Year after year, decade after decade, it's all the same. He can't escape it. He's his own personal bulldozer, razing lives to make room for himself.

No more.

He closes his journal, laying it on his stomach, and shuts his eyes. Why write more? All he can do is harp on the same subject over and over again. And what's the point of that? It won't change anything. It'll all be the same tomorrow. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep going like this. He's already close to tears.

He craves peace. Just one moment of peace.

But she's not here.

And she may not come.


	18. Chapter 18

She's not sure if she's going.

She lies on her bed, staring at the ceiling and trying desperately to make sense of the thoughts whirling in her head. She has no idea where these feelings are coming from. She had no idea that these types of feelings could even exist when it came to Stefan. But here she is, in her room on her bed.

And not in his.

So what does she do now? Does she continue to lie here and pretend she has nowhere else to be? Or does she get up and go to him like she's done so many times before? She rubs her hands over her face. She's not sure what her next move should be.

And that terrifies her.

Their lives seem to have suddenly taken a turn for the worse, and she doesn't know if they will ever get better. Right now, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. At least none she can see. He keeps saying everything will be all right. He keeps saying he'll fix this, that he and Damon will handle it. He wants her not to worry. He wants her to stay out of it.

What he doesn't understand is that she can't. She is too far into this that she can't ever not be involved. This is her life they're talking about. Her family and friends. Her town. There is no possible way that she can just stand back and watch the tornado whirl around her. She has to step up and fight.

But she hasn't the faintest idea how.

Now she and Stefan are fighting. This has never really happened before. How do they maneuver reconciliation? Should they? Or should she pack it in, board up the windows, and build up her walls?

What's worse is that now she has Damon whispering words into her ear, weaving plans and providing options she never knew she had. He's giving her a way out.

And the offer is tempting.

Who knew it would come to this? Thinking about abandoning one brother to skulk off with the other. She should feel ashamed. She should be horrified. She should be wracked with guilt. And part of her is. But she has to admit that part of her is not. She's only a seventeen year old girl who up until now has pretty much lived life like it was her own personal amusement park. But now, she's befriending witches, fighting vampires, sleeping with them, being tempted by them. Will this ever end?

She sits up and hugs her knees, laying her face on them. She wishes she were selfless. She wishes she were stronger. She wishes so many things. Most of which will never come true.

She should get up and run to him. She needs to show him that come what may she will do whatever she has to in order to keep him. She knows he would do the same for her. After all, that's what you do for the people you love. It's easy to love someone when everything is going well and everyone is happy. Try loving someone in the midst of turmoil. It's difficult to weather a storm and walk out unscathed.

She doesn't know who they really are yet. She barely knows who she really is yet. Either way she's not sure she wants to know.

The clock is ticking, and dawn is approaching.

She knows she should run to him.

But she knows that she won't.


	19. Chapter 19

His heart is weighed down by his sins.

Who knows if he will ever survive them?

He stands in the middle of a cemetery, staring down at two headstones. He asked to meet her here because he knew she wouldn't come to his house, and she wasn't going to invite him to hers. Now here he waits, in a deserted graveyard, for the girl he's not entirely sure he can live without.

This situation is a nightmare. How did everything become so fucked up? Life has become touch and go, and they haven't spoken privately in days. Since their relationship started, it has been one disaster after another, and he's wondering if she's thinking about throwing in the towel. He wouldn't blame her.

But he doesn't want her to.

He hears her footsteps before she's anywhere near him. Hears how she tentatively walks towards him. Hears her take a deep breath before saying his name.

Stefan.

He turns to face her and immediately notices the tension etched on her face. She's uncertain about the state of affairs. Well, join the club.

He motions for her to come closer, and she does but stays at arms length. She stares at the grave markers, and he watches her facial expressions change from curiosity to shock. She looks up at him, and he begins to explain.

They are standing before his and Damon's graves.

Back when they were killed, his father saw to it that the town viewed their deaths as heroic even though they were nothing of the sort. He had caskets placed in the town's cemetery next to their mother's grave so that people would think they actually died. Some of the founders knew that they cavorted with a vampire and refused to let them lie on hallowed ground. After their father died, their caskets were exhumed and moved to this new location. It was the cemetery for the unknown.

The unclaimed.

The lost.

She shakes her head in disbelief. She never knew how far this thing had gone. She never truly understood it could be this bad.

As bad as it is right now.

She knows he wants to protect her and she loves him for it, but she refuses to be a pawn in anyone's game.

He opens his mouth, but she holds up her hand and tells him not to interrupt.

She is a pawn. He may not think so, but she is. She's constantly caught in the middle of fights. Between him and Damon. Between him and Damon and the tomb vampires. Between him and Damon and Katherine. Everyone uses her to their advantage. Everyone tries to one up each other by trading her back and forth between camps. In essence, she's the POW of the vampire world.

She knows she's just human but that doesn't mean she's weak. She's managed to survive this long, and she'll continue to survive. But he has to give her some credit. She has come through for him time and again. She has never underestimated _him_. Ever. And now he has to do the same for her. It's only fair.

He understands what she's saying, and he doesn't think her weak. He knows she's not. What he does know is that she is fragile. She is breakable. Very, very breakable. One flick of a wrist, one backhand from any vampire, and she is dead. Does she understand? Dead. And the thought of that…

He chokes up.

He could never live, knowing that he was the reason she was dead. He couldn't.

And he wouldn't.

In the short amount of time that they have been together, they have not failed each other.

And he hopes that they won't now.

Please.

All he wants is to keep her safe.

All she wants is to keep him safe.

They cross the barrier between them so that they may cradle each other.

Sometimes, differences destroy the bond between two people.

Sometimes, they strengthen it.


	20. Chapter 20

Hello, readers. I would just like to inform everyone that this will be the last chapter of this story. I think this a good stopping point, and twenty chapters seem like a good round number. I would like to thank all of my readers and reviewers. Without all of you, this story would not have gone as far as it has. This story has been an incredible journey for me, and I hope it meant as much to you as it did to me. Thank you all. So please, read and enjoy.

* * *

They do not discuss the future.

But it's time.

One of the reasons this topic has never come up is because neither is sure what they want just yet. Both vacillate until the options are muddled, causing headaches and despair.

She's from a generation where people are expected to know what they want and stop at nothing to get it. Not knowing makes her feel like a failure. She believes she's defected. She doesn't understand yet that those who seem to have it all figured out are in for a rude awakening. They'll discover that plans are temporary.

He's from an entirely different generation, one built on survival. Loyalty and hard work was what built this country, and he saw it happen. He only understands these two principles. The future was always something vague to him. He's seen that plans mean nothing when it comes to life. He had plans once. Look how that turned out.

As if this weren't enough, both are afraid.

Like anyone would be when facing the unknown.

There are three real possibilities.

And each one comes with its own consequences.

They lie on his bed once again. It's good to be back here. It's good to feel safe. This is where they belong. This is their element.

She has her arm draped over his chest while he strokes her hair. He lets it run through his fingers like sand.

Carefully. Tenderly.

He repeats this motion, and it's like a lullaby to her. It makes her sleepy. But her mind won't stop buzzing. So while she rubs her hand over his chest she whispers two words.

The future.

He stops stroking, and she sits up. Both are hardly ready for this, but it needs to be broached.

He thinks that each day is a struggle so they should just be grateful that they have tonight.

She agrees. But she can't live in limbo. Couples discuss the future of their relationship. They should too. They need to.

He starts. He doesn't know. All he knows is that he wants her in his life.

But for how long? For eternity? Or for just the remainder of her life?

He doesn't know if he could turn her.

She doesn't know if she wants to be turned. Eternity seems like such a long time. She loves him. She does. But she's not sure if she could give up humanity for him. She doesn't know if she could handle watching those she loves die off one by one until there was no one left. Being young forever has its benefits. That is not one of them.

He would love to spend an eternity with her. She's the one person he can picture himself spending forever with. But he thinks he could handle living out her life with her. It would be difficult though to watch her get older and die. He can't imagine her dying. He can't imagine watching the life drain out of her. He doesn't want to be a witness to that.

There is one option that looms overhead. A shadow in the dark. Do they even have a future together? There are so many things that humans are entitled to that vampires will never possess. Marriage and children being one of them. Although marriage is not a prerequisite for building a life with someone, it is something she imagined herself doing at some point. As for children, they are adorable, noisy, and an impossibility.

For him.

She knows that one day she will yearn for a baby. She will want to feel one growing inside of her, feel it kick and squirm. She will want to watch it grow, watch it take its first steps and speak its first words.

He wants her to have that. But that kind of future is not in the cards for him.

She knows. So where do they go from here?

Nothing has to be settled tonight. They should just wait and see. Feelings might change further down the road.

She nods her head, and they embrace. Both close their eyes and pray that a solution will be found, that a compromise will be met.

But for now, all they can do is go on.

And exist.


End file.
